Second Place

Second Place by Rachel Cusk (2021) What an odd book, and one of my favorites in the last few years, which is impressive because I had read about a third, wasn’t really connecting, so I put it aside for a year. Once I got back into it, though, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It’s got a deceptively slight appearance, not real long, kind of unassuming in presentation—but it turns out to be surprisingly heavy-duty, dense—it’s about everything, and it’s intense. It starts out with the first-person narrator addressing someone named “Jeffers”—odd, since that’s my name! Just kidding. My brother is named Jeff, but don’t call him Jeffers, even affectionately. I’m not sure it’s ever explained, maybe I missed it, but it feels like the reader is intercepting this personal correspondence from a woman known only as “M.” She is obsessed with a painter named “L”—and her explanation of how his paintings affected her is kind of breathtaking. She coerces him to come and stay with her and her husband, Tony, as they have a guest house (the “second place”). They live at a fairly remote marsh, on the coast of England—a place I can’t even really picture, as good as the descriptions are. Also, living there are her daughter and her boyfriend—and the young woman L brings along—so this remote spot becomes weirdly overpopulated! There’s almost nothing I relate to—marriage, kids, the landscape—no diners! And the ways days are spent. Maybe only the obsession—I get that. But as the book went along, I was increasingly drawn in and related to everything in it—so much so that I started marking sections with post-it notes—something I never do. I may or may not go back to them—it makes more sense to me to read the whole book over, at some point. By the end, I felt like I’d been in the shoes of all these characters—not just their anxieties, but in deep ways I can’t put into words—that’s what the book does.

5.2.26

Master and Commander

Master and Commander by Patrick O’Brian (1969) The first entry of a 20 book series (so if you love it, you’re in luck!) published over like 30 years—which I certainly didn’t know about back when it came out. At that age I read so many seafaring books—I think I would have liked it. Maybe it would have been too adult for me, though that didn’t stop me—the same way my ignorance of world history, British naval culture, and technical matters regarding ships and sailing don’t stop me now—from enjoying it immensely. There was a time when I felt I had to be “prepared” for a book, but now I’m more apt to jump right in, knowing that I can easily re-read (or re-listen) to it, no problem. The excellent writing really paints a picture of life aboard this Royal Navy ship, a “sloop-of-war,” around 1800, during the Napoleonic Wars. The heart of the book is the intense friendship between these two very different men—the ship’s captain, Jack Aubrey, and the adopted ship’s surgeon, Stephen Maturin. Aubrey is a real character, both really smart and kind of blundering—but calm and fearless, and an unusual but vivid hero. Maturin is a nautical novice, so we get to learn the basics, as well as insights and nuances of seafaring life through his eyes. Both of them are a little nuts—so I can relate to both! There is no small amount of humor in the depictions here, either, but also, a respectable amount of horror, but not so much that I had to constantly turn away. There’s action, but just enough not to bore me. And enough politics, insider insight, nautical jargon, and intrigue that I knew I wasn’t getting half of it (for me, a good feeling, truthfully). But learning some things before I return to it (or its sequels) would be rewarding. Also, the language throughout is delightful.

4.19.26

The Prodigious Hickey

The Prodigious Hickey by Owen Johnson (1910) After reading Skippy Bedelle, one of my favorite books last year, I wanted to read more of “The Lawrenceville Stories” by Owen Johnson—this being the first of the series. Actually, it was published a year earlier with the title, The Eternal Boy. I prefer the title, Prodigious Hickey, because it’s funnier. I read the entire book during times of insomnia—when I’d wake up at 3 a.m., I opened it and found it comforting, the way certain episodes go on and on and on. Like Hungry Smead eating 49 pancakes, for the record at Conover’s. Or visits to Al at the Jigger Shop. Names like Dennis de Brian de Boru Finnegan, Crazy Opdyke, Turkey Reiter, The Triumphant Egghead, the Duke of Bilgewater, and my favorite, and favorite character, Doc Macnooder. All this at the Lawrenceville prep school, and at the center the story, William Orville Hicks—the Prodigious Hickey—one of those guys who seems to be behind everything—and everyone knows it, including the authority figures he has run-ins with, like Tabby (Mr. Tapping), the Doctor (headmaster), and The Roman. As much as I liked this book, I still didn’t like it as much as Skippy Bedelle, which came out over ten years later—I wonder if he just became that much better of a writer—which would make sense. Also, the language changed over that time, I suppose, and became a bit easier to understand. Also, the sports stuff, in this book, is a little much, for me, and the later book benefits from many more women characters. Owen Johnson published a lot of books—and I definitely intend to read more, particularly more Lawrenceville tales—next is The Tennessee Shad—most promising.

4.13.26

Pop. 1280

Pop. 1280 by Jim Thompson (1964) Our hero, Nick Corey, sheriff of Pottsville (Pop. 1280—which is ambitious) is not unlike Sheriff Andy Taylor (on TV when this novel was published) in that he’s easygoing and seemingly a bit dimwitted, leading to people underestimating him. It’s first person, so you’re right there with him, and you feel the pain he feels when some neighboring lawmen bully him, and people in general treat him with too little respect. So, I was right by his side, myself—after all, he likes to eat! A lot in common with this guy, plus, I was imagining him sounding exactly like M. Emmet Walsh. But, alas, however… I was starting to get clues that maybe I was misjudging him, and then… let’s see. It would make very little sense for me to reveal anything else for anyone reading this who has yet to read this novel and is intending to. And if you’re not… what am I, the Cliff Notes here? What I can say is the book is easy to read, moves fast, is very funny, extremely disturbing, and makes you feel off-balance. You can also, if you’re so inclined, find obvious parallels with this tiny town to much larger political entities and contemporary situations, if you know what I’m saying. It’s not Mayberry, but then nothing ever was, really.

4.2.26

Nina and Skeezix – The Problem of the Lost Ring

Nina and Skeezix – The Problem of the Lost Ring by Frank King (1942) This is one of those Whitman “Authorized Editions” books, where sometimes they have a celebrity as a main character—like, I have one (haven’t read yet) with Ginger Rogers! And have heard of one with Gene Tierney!! The full title of this book adds the subtitle: An original story about Nina Clock and Skeezix Wallet of the famous newspaper comic strip “Gasoline Alley” by Frank King. I’ve never seen Gasoline Alley, but now I want to check it out—it’s still going! Did Frank King write this book, or a ghostwriter? I have no idea, but whoever it was put together a fantastic, rollicking, mystery adventure about this elusive, priceless artifact ring and a whole slew of underworld characters, corruption, clowns… and our heroes, Nina and Skeezix—and it’s also a romance! It takes place in a fictional metropolis called Detropolis—that is likely based on Chicago, I guess—I’m not familiar with the comic, and the geography is confusing. The book has about 20 full-page illustrations which are amazing. My favorite element of this book is the characters—there are so many it’s hard to keep them straight—but they’re colorful and have great names. Besides Nina and Skeezix, Rudy the elevator operator was my (and, I bet, everyone’s) favorite. The very last chapter of the book introduces a totally new character named Bounce McTinkle—which is crazy—how can you put a name like that on a guy… at the very end? No place to go! But maybe they were counting on another book—I would have been, had I written this one! This could have been the start of a whole book series.

3.30.26

In Watermelon Sugar

In Watermelon Sugar by Richard Brautigan (1968) I was a big fan of Richard Brautigan because I discovered some of his books when I was in high school, including some volumes of poetry. I don’t remember loving this short novel, but I read it—going back to it now, it seems pretty uninteresting in itself—a meandering story of what sounds like people living in some alternative reality—nothing too shocking or disturbing. Actually, what I do like about it is the mundane quality and the very subtle humor. There was something about the sun, in this place, shining in different colors—I liked that, but can’t find it specifically, paging through. A lot about a place called iDEATH—which is no doubt from where Apple stole the names for their dumb products. There is inBOIL and “that gang of his.” The Forgotten Works and the Watermelon Works, etc. The weirder the details are, the less interesting to me. What I like is the goofiness, the humor, and the everyday details, like people being tired of when the guy cooks who only cooks carrots. I guess that’s kind of hippie commune humor, which is the overall vibe. The thing that was most inspiring to me, when younger, is the book itself, one of the Dell Brautigan paperbacks (Third Laurel printing—June 1974—probably when I bought it!) Small and inexpensive, but with great style—bright blue front and back, with a black and white photo of Richard Brautigan and an attractive, young woman on the cover—they could be posing as characters within. I guess this book kind of said to me, “you can write a book,” and for that I’m thankful and still inspired. Of course, it’s not so easy!

3.23.26

Harriet the Spy

Harriet the Spy by Louise Fitzhugh (1964) I was a little bit alarmed at how much of Harriet the Spy I didn’t remember, re-reading it, recently—but then, I guess it’s been a while—I’m not sure what year I first read it (as an adult). It kind of shocked me at how extreme it is—the characters, the situations, the NYC setting, and the drama. There’s nothing wishy-washy about this book! I feel like it really gets at the weirdness of childhood—even if the details are far-removed from your own experience—which is the case for me, for the most part. The kids are all complex characters, and so are the adults. I guess there is a good reason this is one of the classics of children’s literature. I remember a few years back when they were going to make a movie from it—I think I wondered if they were going to water it down—but I decided not to see it, either way—nothing I could do about it. The kids can be quite cruel to each other—which is true to life. Most interesting to me is the really complex, unusual character, Ole Golly, Harriet’s nanny—great character! Of course, I particularly like that Harriet’s goal is to be a writer, and her main passion, besides spying on people, is writing in her notebook. Her observations are unfiltered and can be quite mean—but also very funny. Then the kids get ahold of her notebook, fail to respect her privacy—and it’s a nightmare. This I can relate to!

3.16.26

A Manual for Cleaning Women: Selected Stories

A Manual for Cleaning Women: Selected Stories by Lucia Berlin (2015) The best novel I read so far this year is called “Let Me See You Smile”—but it’s not a novel, it’s a story in this book—but it feels like a novel in its immensity. It is long, so maybe it would technically be a novella—it’s about an older woman in a relationship with a younger guy, and they get into legal trouble, find a lawyer who helps them—who also gets deeply emotionally involved—but there’s no way to begin to touch on the complexity of it. If I was still thinking about movies, this would be the one to attempt to adapt—but on the other hand, maybe I’d be protective of it. Not to take away from the rest of the stories in this immense volume—and it’s probably not even the best one here! But what is best? With stories, shorter fiction, like poetry, you read through them and intensely connect to some and don’t connect at all to others—but that’s really not fair to the others—which you realize, when you come back the book later—it just wasn’t time yet for some of those stories. The writing is so good—often surprising, and often very, very funny—that I could imagine having many favorites over the years. This is a book I definitely want to come back to. Some of these stories are so emotionally devastating that you might have to put up a wall—not let them in, in order to guard yourself from them. But you can still appreciate their power, or off-centered weirdness. A lot of them are about women, and children, and a lot about people who are working-class. Some about people living in poverty. And then there’s alcoholism, and addiction, and every kind of trouble, including illness, and incarceration. It’s a full course of humanity, for sure. I’m not going to list favorites—though I have some—I’m making notes for myself, though, so I can check those out first, when I come back to it, which I will do. I also want to look for other stuff she wrote—this is the first I’ve read by her—even though I’ve known about this book for a while. Just hadn’t gotten to it.

3.10.26

John Barleycorn

John Barleycorn by Jack London (1913) Subtitled “Alcoholic Memoirs,” this is Jack London’s personal history of his relationship with drinking alcohol, or “John Barleycorn”—first published in serial form, then as a book—quite popular. Well, his writing is irresistible, highly entertaining. It’s a memoir, first of all—but through the lens of his complex relationship with alcohol. He ultimately favored prohibition, and in retrospect we can see why that didn’t work, but he has good arguments for it—fully aware of the power alcohol has over humans—it’s the power to confuse and overwhelm good sense. He starts with his earliest drinking experiences, and this historical perspective is fascinating, the social side to drinking, related to work and comradery—a time when saloons were men-only. He insists that he had no physical, hereditary addiction—and there were times, such as during long sea voyages when he didn’t drink at all. But then certain obsessive episodes he describes could be seen as the epitome of alcoholism. Particularly convincing is his description, later in life, when he would not let himself drink until a certain hour, or until after his daily “1000 words” were written—but from his account, you can just feel the encroaching obsession—the way the alcohol begins to control your mind. It is such a complex subject—everything about alcohol—that we are still in the dark ages of understanding it. Hearing the way Jack London goes back and forth on the subject—clearly doing his best to figure it out—is really pretty poignant. You might recognize this in yourself, or with those who struggle with its control. I personally think we are no further along in understanding it than this book is, and its influence will accompany us until the end of human life on Earth.

3.5.26

A Confederacy of Dunces

A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole (1980) I had been meaning to read this book forever and I was sure I had a copy, but I couldn’t find it, so I resorted to an audio book, which was highly entertaining—it was like a whole season of the best sitcom ever—just relentless, outrageous, farcical episodes with a lot of great characters—a lot of repetition, sure, but plenty of surprises along the way. It feels both dated and all too current—I guess buffoonery and aggressive ignorance is timeless. Also, it’s set in and around New Orleans, the most fascinating town in the US. The narrator is Barrett Whitener, and he really goes for it, voicing the characters—for all that I’m missing by not reading it on the page (which I still might do, later, in my slow fashion), I’m gaining something from this performance. Ignatius Reilly is a great protagonist—one you might know of, never having read this book, as he’s exceeded it—he lives with his mother and is a pompous know-it-all, disdains popular culture—so whenever his enthusiasm alights on something, it’s a pleasure. You do weary of hearing about his “valve”—but his attempt to find work, first at a pants factory, and then as a hotdog vendor, is subject matter dear to me. The cop, Mancuso, is really good as well, could have his own book. My favorite is Burma Jones, who probably sees the world most clearly of anyone, though is a buffoon in his own way—but he’s irrepressible, and everything he says is hilarious. I guess it’s a well-known story that JKT had no success getting this book accepted, and died by suicide, age 31, before it was published, which is very sad. It’s kind of amazing the manuscript didn’t end up in a dumpster, like everything else is fated to.

3.1.26

Carry On, Jeeves

Carry On, Jeeves by P. G. Wodehouse (1925) I have to admit that I’d avoided P. G. Wodehouse up until now, for no good reason, so just checking out his bibliography is intimidating, yet comforting—should I find myself charmed, one has never to fear “running out.” But—how to choose? Well, what’s reasonable in the used bookstore, and available “now” on the audiobook app—which turned out to be this book—narrated by the estimable Martin Jarvis—which I enjoyed thoroughly, a couple of times through. I don’t believe this is quite the same as the original version of this book proper—somewhat less, and different order and who knows, but it’s hard to tell—stories were serialized, collected, re-collected, maybe re-written. My whole approach would probably mortify strict Wodehousians—this must be some group—would they welcome me with open arms or tell me to stay home? At any rate, the stories here are: “Jeeves Takes Charge,” “Jeeves and the Unbidden Guest,” “The Artistic Career of Corky,” “The Aunt and the Sluggard,” “Clustering Round Young Bingo,” “Jeeves and the Hard-Boiled Egg,” and “The Rummy Affair of Old Biffy.” Which begin with Bertie Wooster first engaging his valet, Jeeves, who he quickly grows to depend on for the stickiest matters, sensitive situations, and developing fiascos. Jeeves is of course a genius-level problem solver to the extent that he’s quite scary. Bertie sits halfway between Jeeves’ brilliance and the moronic misadventures of some of his cohorts. It’s a loving relationship, including an ongoing conflict involving Bertie’s questionable choices in clothing and grooming and Jeeves’ impeccable taste. While the situations are all hilarious, the best thing throughout is the language—and endless cascade of English expressions of the time and colorful slang—my favorite, naturally, being “rummy”—which as far as I can tell can mean pretty much anything. I have to struggle, now, to keep from using it excessively, myself.

2.24.26

Wild Dark Shore

Wild Dark Shore by Charlotte McConaghy (2025) I start so many books and give up on them at some point—my time here is finite, and books are infinite. I have no rule, just go by feelings, if and when. So, I guess it says something about the compelling narrative here that I raced to the end while also intensely disliking it. I’ve rarely been so conflicted about a book! I’m wondering why, exactly. The reasons I don’t connect to a book could be its voice, or simply subject matter—and I rarely go in for stories about parenting, not to mention, romance, so there’s that. As far as reasons for, aftermath of, and dealing with trauma—that depends. The trauma here is so over-the-top as to almost feel like a parody—and I liked that! And then, I suppose an element that sometimes turns me against a book is when I’m feeling manipulated by the author. With this book, I think it had to do, in part, with the way information is withheld and doled out, and the “cliffhanger” style—but that’s something I often like—so I don’t know. Maybe I need to take responsibility for feeling manipulated, and put that on me. There certainly is a lot to love in this book. Remote island lighthouse outpost, natural history, botany, woodworking, intensely cold conditions, huge storms, grappling with climate change, fascinating characters, mystery, dead mothers (well, not that so much—though it did get me wondering again why every other book I read has the presence of a dead mother). I especially loved the description of the island, the plants, the seeds, the animals. It brought forth for me those difficult thoughts, like, why are we here, and how did what’s here get here, and is there any sense in it all, or plan. The usual stuff about God, I guess. Which then led to me thinking about when an author creates a world of characters who you (the reader) care about, and then puts them in motion, why do we sometimes accept it without question, and why do we sometimes feel like the author is treating us (the reader) unfairly, due to the fate of their characters? I’m guessing that most of the people who love this book don’t dwell on such questions, and maybe for me, it’s just a matter of not connecting. But it’s hard, too, when there is so much here that I really liked. I’ve rarely been so conflicted about a book.

2.19.26

Casino Royale

Casino Royale by Ian Fleming (1953) Though we’re dying off, I guess, there must still be a lot of dinosaurs like myself for whom the first really cool thing they can remember was James Bond at the cinema. But even among younger people—due to theatrical re-releases and some fairly imaginative sequels—it’s still a big audience. So why they haven’t followed my suggestion to release a new, low-budget, two-hour James Bond nostalgia-fest each Christmas (new Bond actor and new director each year) is beyond me­—though I suspect it’s a case of must-be-bigger-than-the-last-one-itis. In my frustration, I’ve even resorted to trying to read the Ian Fleming original novels—or, in this case, audiobook with a decent narrator (if he’s got an accent, I’m in). I thought Diamonds Are Forever (1956)—in spite of the offensive parts—was great fun—but this one, not so much. I was curious, naturally, to start at the beginning, and I’ll probably try more—but much like the 2006 movie—which I feel is an improvement on this book, at least—the fundamental plotline here (which, really, I shouldn’t need to repeat), I find profoundly unpleasant. And while I’m sure there are some—the cool, or nostalgic, or funny, or odd, or exciting—bearable parts—it’s just, overall, way too big of a giant bummer to be enjoyable.

2.16.26

Winter Journal

Winter Journal by Paul Auster (2012) I’ve only read a few books by Paul Auster—I want to read more—he’s got so many books, and I really want to re-read the New York Trilogy as much as anything. This is a memoir that came out in 2012. I feel like I’ve read more of his stuff than I have, maybe, partially, because I’m remembering those movies he collaborated on with Wayne Wang, in the Nineties. I got the impression, then, that he was at death’s door, but this book is nearly two decades later, and… same. He passed away fairly recently, so this feels somewhat haunting—no less so because I listened to the audiobook and he narrates it—which is great, he’s an excellent reader, and you feel like he’s right there with you. It’s written in the second person, which is kind of unusual, and really works—so he’s addressing “you”—which means him—but as he was, when he wrote it, approaching the age I am now—so it feels uncannily like he’s addressing me. No less so because we’re thematically compatible—lots of musing on time, aging, mortality, tragedy, and in spite of it all, life being an exceptional privilege—which we do appreciate.

2.12.26

Mystery at Redtop Hill

Mystery at Redtop Hill by Marjory Schwalje (1965) One of the best kids’ books covers I’ve seen—published by Whitman, from Racine—great book cover art from this time period. If you open it up flat, it’s a whole landscape with orange sky and rolling green hills, and three kids spying on a distant car. Even the font is good. Better yet, when you open it, the endpapers have a two-page map of Redtop Hill. I love that. The cover illustration is by Charles Geer, who is one of the best—his illustrations of the Mad Scientists’ Club books are crucial—especially the cover of the first one. The illustrations here are beautiful, and there are a lot—almost every other page—some black and white, and some color, even two-page spreads. It takes place during summer break at the seasonal cabins of a couple of families from the city, at a country outpost near Cooperstown, NY, and Otsego Lake. Of course, a lot of pictures mean less text, and indeed this is “A Whitman Tween Age Book”—don’t know if I’d like being called that, at any age, but I guess it’s geared a little younger than some similar chapter mysteries. I’d never heard of Marjory Schwalje, not a ton of stuff out there by her, but this is well written and fun. It’s not a real elaborate mystery, of course, but there are real consequences, and the kids save the day with their persistence. It includes what might be the worst chase scene in chase scene history, but I chose to believe it’s a parody of chase scenes. The best parts are some funny details pertaining to the eccentric old-timer, Major Clyde—the kind of interesting adult who enriches the kids’ lives immeasurably.

2.8.26

Room to Dream

Room to Dream by David Lynch and Kristine McKenna (2018) This is an odd biography, in that it alternates between bio, written by Kristine McKenna, and memoir by David Lynch—so that the two parts complement each other. It can’t be the first time someone’s tried this, though it’s the first I’ve experienced, and I think it would be a fine model for future bios—or at least worth a try. This one works if you love David Lynch because it feels like spending time with him as he reminisces. I listened to the audiobook version (narrated by the authors)—I imagine the print version feels very different—still worthwhile, but maybe not as fun. I really connected to this. Over the years, since I first saw Eraserhead, around 1980, I’ve gone back and forth on David Lynch so many times—from being my favorite filmmaker to hating his work—sometimes within the course of one movie! I have continuously rewatched and reevaluated his movies—but ultimately moving toward greater approval. For whatever reason, this just seemed like a natural way to experience his work. It took me a long time to come around to some of it, but I think that just made me love the work more. I never read much about him, at least in depth—except for an article in some magazine, decades ago, that I had forgotten, until this brought it back. He talked about going to Bob’s Big Boy every day because he was obsessed with the chocolate milkshakes made with the Taylor machines. That was the point I really felt like I connected to him. Now, with this book, and re-watching his movies (and especially Twin Peaks: The Return), I love him more than ever.

2.3.26

By the Light of the Study Lamp

By the Light of the Study Lamp by Carolyn Keene (1934) The first Dana Girls Mystery. The ghostwriter was Leslie McFarlane, who wrote the original Hardy Boys a few years before this, and you can recognize some of his influence, as with some light touches like the comic relief, somewhat offensive portrayal of their housekeeper, named “Cora Apple.” But I read somewhere that he wasn’t too into it, so he only wrote the first four Dana Girls, then quit—I read his autobiography, but I forgot if he talked about this. I read the 2nd book in this series, a while back, and was a little disappointed at the lack of definition of the two Dana sisters—so with this one, I made a point to try to focus on their personalities a little more—and it occurred to me, they’re kind of a Hardy Boys version of Nancy Drew or vice versa. Louise is the older, dark-haired girl, and Jean, who is a year younger, is fair-haired and more impetuous. As I recall, the story was pretty wacky in that book, and this one is even more fun—a good mystery, it moves fast, and at times it’s totally over-the-top. Some people find excessive, unbelievable coincidences to be evidence of bad writing, but here it’s taken to such an extreme you’d have to consider it an art form! Sure, there’s a bit of predictability, but even when you do see some of it coming, it’s full of surprises. There’s danger, some strangeness, nostalgia, and even some hijinks at the girls’ school—scheming, and revenge—with the Danas getting the upper hand. There’s even a brief subplot about aggressive and unethical medical billing, believe it or else. Boy, the more things stay the same, the more they stay the same.

1.27.26

Buckeye

Buckeye by Patrick Ryan (2025) Can’t remember where I came across this—but naturally, being from Ohio—the title got my attention—it all takes place in the Buckeye State—though there’s also a character nick-named Buckeye. It struck me that I never knew anyone with that handle—it would seem too weird—are there any out there? For the most part, the novel rang true enough to be quite satisfying—and since it’s about the Second World War generation, I wasn’t there—but I sure have seen a few movies about the time. This story extends over a lifetime, and I’ll admit, that’s something that’s usually not my thing, to put it mildly—but I was willing to go with it, here, once I got into it. There are very strong characters who we get to love and know—and naturally, there were a few I wanted to get to know more, but it’s already a pretty long novel. I almost even cried at one point—only didn’t because I never do—and in this case, kind of turned on the story for being soap-opera-ish—but then was happy to forgive it. It’s set mostly in a fictional northwestern Ohio town—I tried to imagine a few places, based on size, and my travels, seeking out diners, in decades past. The feeling of the town is familiar and convincing. A couple things, by chance, really hit home. One character moves to Columbus—and had strong connections to the Lazarus department store, there, as I did. (I was fascinated with the store when younger, and later worked there, and was disillusioned. Jobs!) And then, my hometown, Sandusky’s famous amusement park (where I had my first job) figures in, especially near the end. I’ve written quite a bit about the terrifying double Ferris wheel—so I was happy, here, that it’s fresh, and metaphorical—yet still rides the edge between disaster and transcendence.

1.15.26

Flashfire

Flashfire by Richard Stark (2000) I can’t say these Parker novels are the most entertaining books, to me, I’ve read, in that they (so far, I’ve only read a few) lack a particular depth, spirituality, and even nostalgia—plus, the violence is almost too much for me—but there’s nothing more addicting, save for maybe potato chips. I suppose it’s an addictive quality akin to a manual, for a specific obsession—though I’m not remotely interested in any of these activities—robbery, revenge, hiding out—but I guess observing Parker assess a situation, and then decisively acting, is a real pleasure—because of his experience, intelligence, and even creativity. But then, maybe it’s simply a wild yarn, and you’re waiting to see what happens next, and it’s often not what you expect. There are some terrific surprises in this one. I only realized later that this book was the basis for a movie I’d seen—Parker (2013)—an even worse title than this book! Which I didn’t really care for—mostly because its tone was off-putting to me, while the book’s tone feels perfect for what it is—which maybe means tonally flat, washed out—and weirdly the place from which you might find inspiration. Once again, there’s a change of identity side adventure, integral to the plot—and it strikes me how that is more difficult than a heist. It’s funny how two of the hardest things to achieve, for people, is fame and a new identity. As with most crime stories, the most fascinating part is the chess match—and then, when you throw out all the rules, who can you trust, and how far, and for how long, and how completely?

1.8.26

The Secret of Skeleton Island

The Secret of Skeleton Island by Bruce Campbell (1949) Not to be confused with the Three Investigators mystery by the same name (also very good) but rather the first in the series of Ken Holt mysteries, and the first one I’ve read—as it’s the first I’ve found in a bookstore. They’re not rare, but a lot harder to find than Nancy Drew. I only recently read that the author (not to be confused with the “Evil Dead” actor) was actually Sam Epstein and Beryl Williams Epstein, a husband-and-wife children’s book writing team—which is interesting in itself. These stories are of the more highly regarded series books of the time, for their realism, I guess, and I found this one to be well-written, though oddly slow moving in places. The entire story takes place in a 48-hour period in which Ken has scant shuteye, and is kidnapped multiple times—all as we’re introduced to his background (journalist father, dead mother—another dead mother!). Then meets, by chance, future allies, a best friend (Sandy Allen) and a surrogate family—all while upending a particularly cutthroat crime ring. Unlike the Hardy Boys, who get knocked unconscious about once an episode, Ken and Sandy viciously coldcock several of their nemeses in this volume. I’m curious to see how quickly their knuckles heal and what adventure is next, and also, will the two friends ever have a falling out, say, over a girl? But my future reading will likely be determined by which books I find, out there—I do have another, I believe the fourth in the series—I don’t think I’ll worry about the order.

1.4.26